


Most Beloved

by Dalian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 06:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18231335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalian/pseuds/Dalian
Summary: America and England haven't always had pleasant interactions, let alone a close relationship. Decades of fighting and bickering combined with the unforgettable American Revolutionary War left the two hostile. However, this might take a turn after a sudden weather report delays his trip home. England was stopped by an impatient American offering to let him stay over. It takes more than fancy presents and a few lines of flattery to change the Brit's heart, but what does America has that no one else does?





	Most Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first UsUk fanfic which is EXCITING!! Despite this being the first fanfic I wrote, I actually have been shipping UsUk for more than 2 years now so..it's more than just a drabble. Ahh, how embarrassing~! I hope that you will enjoy the story!!

****Ever since he left this land many decades ago, the possibilities of being welcome back never crossed England’s mind. A few weeks ago, the Queen assigned her nation across the Atlantic to America to attend some business. The trips back and forth, by ship, is around 2 weeks, plus 1-week meetings aren’t necessary troublesome. Except, that was the plan. At the meeting comes to an end, both side were informed that the weather had taken a turn and a storm is coming. With sudden weather hazards, it’s unsafe for them to sail home until the storm passes by. Last minute planning, it was scheduled for a stay at a nearby inn. Alright, doesn’t sound too bad. Things happen and you never know.

Before England could leave with his boss, America pulled the Brit aside for his so-called ‘quick chat’. It started with the usual greeting, England, not wanting any unnecessary interaction, told him to hurry up. The American agreed with a nod, leading England along to an empty meeting room nearby. To America, the isolated room feels little more private, but to England, it’s walking into a lion den.

“Hey, how about you stay over at my place?” America asked, closing the door behind them. He turned around, a look of anticipation can be seen.

“Pardon?” England asked, not quite sure if he had heard the words correctly.

“You should come over for tonight.” America repeats once again, this time with more certainty.

England declined the idea, calling it unnecessary and unplanned, hoping it was just an ill-timed joke from the younger nation. The two haven’t spoken much since the last few decades, so the warm hospitality is sceptical. Needless to say, the prominent silence from America confirm that it’s not simply a joke.

“It’s better than staying at the inn.” America said.

“Is it?” England snapped, his green eyes stared back coldly at young America. He didn’t mean it to sound so defensive, but the look on the other face says it all.

America took a deep breath, his lip form a thin line as a spark of hurt reflects in his eyes. To be honest, most of their interactions kinda went along this line, but somehow, right now, England feels bad about cutting back like that. The look on America cast guilt onto England's heart as the Brit pretends to ignore it.

“Wh-why are you offering this?” England asked, turning away to hide his uneasiness. The air of silence between them is suffocating as he chokes on the words.

The hurtful look is still there, weaving between disbelief and confusion. “I figures that I don’t get the opportunity to see you often….” America trailed off. There’s something innocent about his words. “So I want to make the best of it.”

England’s cheeks heat up at the words ring through his ears. His heart picks up in rhythm as he tries to comprehend what he was just told. _America wants to spend time with me!?_ England isn’t the type who questions himself, but if there are a time and place, this would be it. Embarrassment radiated from England as he tries to cool down. Too flustered to face America, England turned away a little, attempted to hide the blush from America’s curious eyes. America just stood there, oblivious to the effects of his statements on the older nation.

After a few seconds of no response, America speaks again with a voice of concern. “England?” He walked toward the shorter blond, seeking what’s stalled the nation. America took a few steps forwards as England took a few steps back. This only got the American to be more confused. He tried again and England automatically retreats, not for long as the Brit tripped against the piece of furniture behind him. With nowhere else to backtrack, England decided it’s best to just face the other direction. This didn’t discourage America from pursuing him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he pestered.

“Nothing!”

“I don’t believe you.” Grabbing onto England's shoulder, America easily spun the smaller nation around to find those gorgeous emerald gems stare up at him bashfully. Finally picking up on the mood, America’s grip on England loosened. Now, he’s the one embarrassed. He’s torn between looking at England’s adorable face or somewhere else, and that somewhere else is at the ground. Taking this opportunity, England slipped out of America’s grip and headed straight for the door. “Wait!” he heard America’s cried, taking after him.      

As England set his hand on the handle, ready to twist the doorknob, America grabbed onto his shoulder and face him in his direction, pinning England between the door and himself. America right arm lay beside England's head, the other slide lower to grasped England’s right hand, holding onto it by the fingers. It was warm and gentle. He brought it closer to his chest, near his heart, and gave a light squeeze in reassurance. America’s entire expression softens, baby-blue eyes gaze upon England, brows furrow a little in consideration, and the mouth opens so slightly, wondering what to say next.

England finds this quite endearing.

“Please, don’t go.” America requested, his grip on England’s hand tightens a little.  

England could’ve sworn his heart melt from that. “Git! Don’t say that so easily!!” Embarrassed by America plead, his face is now an even darker shade of red. The young nation can read him like the back of his hand.

“So it that a no?” America replies softly, taking advantage of England clear vulnerability. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where America is aiming, but it takes more than strength to shake him off.

“This is so...unfair.” England whispers. His chest rises up and down quickly, matching the rapid rhythm of his heart.

“What’s unfair.” America innocently asked. His eyes glow menacingly under the shadow of his bang. The younger nation lip slowly forms a smile as he brought England’s hand closer. He paused, the smile from before grew wider as those lips lay a tender kiss on the Brit’s slender fingers. Those icy blue eyes lingered on England’s face, detecting even the slightest of reaction from his former guardian.

England didn’t remember teaching America this.

England squirmed a little from the affectionate touch, adrenaline pumping through his vein. The heats from the close distance and embarrassment began to make his head spin a little. He needs to tell America to stop, push him away, and tell him it’s inappropriate to do this. As far as England can tell, America is waiting for any sign of resistance from England. So far, he hasn't received any so he won’t stop. Yet, something inside England wants it to stays that way.

Is it wrong for him to display this reaction toward his former colonies? Nevertheless his former brother? England is in not the position to think properly.

America continues to peppers kisses along the digits, drinking in the reaction that he’s receiving in return. He kissed the back, then the knuckle, the phalanges, and ended with the fingertips.

England eyes open sheepishly, deep blushes spread across his pale freckles cheeks. He’s biting on his lips a little, trying to keep the whimper in but ultimately failed. Each of the small whimper imprinted in America memories as well as fuelling the heats in his heart.

“America.” England whimpered, not sure of whether to focus on the kisses or America attractive face. Taking this as a sign, America opened his lips and bite tenderly on the tip of the index finger. England breath hitch, a yelp escaped as his legs gave up underneath him. Luckily, America was there to catches him by his middle, leaning him up against his own body. England’s heart can’t take this.

“I’m sorry, I went a little overboard.” America chuckle, one hand supporting England while the other pushes those golden locks away from his face. England’s eyes are too pretty to be covered up.

“I-I’ll...comes.” The words escape between each breath.

“What?”

“I’ll stay over tonight. So-sorry for the inconvenience.” England mutters, burying his head on America chest.

America stiffens then relax. England can feel the small vibration in his throat as a small laugh escape him. Peaking a little from under his hair, England can see the contentment in America eyes to his smile. “Anything for you, England.”

 

* * *

The owner of the house stood ahead with back turns against him, stumbling with the house key in his hand and opened the door. America hasn’t spoken to him on the ride here, neither is now when he steps aside to invite England in. True to be told, the air between them changed a little after that little rendezvous. There has been this weird feeling ever since the two left the meeting room a few hours ago, but only just now that he realised that it was America. His eyes never left England.

It’s not an invitation, it’s an order.

Taking a deep breath and relax, England walked passed America and into the house, eyes avoiding the American next to him. The floor creaked a little at England set his foot onto the dark wooden floor, not knowing what to do but wait for America. It’s not he doesn’t know the house, he’s not welcome here.

The house still looks the same since the last time England left it. Yes, it’s a little bit disarray, but he imagined much worse. The door finally closed behind England as America walks past him and head towards the stair. He took one step and stopped. “Aren’t you gonna follows me?”

“Oh, sorry.” the older nation replied, hurriedly following behind.

“Gives that to me.” America said, extending out his hand.

“What?”

“Your suitcases.” He stated.

“Oh, tha-thank you.” After handing over his 2 suitcases, which America quickly grabbed, they headed upstairs to England’s old room.

The room hasn’t changed much since the last time England saw it. During the few final months before the war started, England rarely stayed over as reports about more rebellion comes in through the office. The teen America didn’t talk much when England visit and everything the Brit says start an argument between them, so the two avoid each other at all cost.

The house is the place that fills with both good and bad memories needless to say.

The sheets are carefully changed and layout, the windows opened for ventilation, and there’s new flower near the nightstand. Even his old wardrobe and desk are still there. England figured this is now a guest room, yet, something told him no one has stayed here beside him.

“It’s very nice.” That was all he could come up with. America didn’t reply, instead set the two suitcases next to the bed.

There isn’t a lot for England to comment about his bedroom, consider all he did was sleep in it. Although, there was undoubtedly some fond memories. Late into the night, England would hear knocks on his bedroom door and found little America in front of him, arms clutching his pillow with tears filled eyes. England noted to not read him scary stories again. The little nation suggests that they should sleep together to which England comply. He can’t find himself to turn down little America. It's kinda disheartening for him to think that one day, America won’t need him for thing like this. Unfortunately, that day came a little too soon.

“What’s wrong England?” America asked, pulling England away from his thought.  

“Oh, nothing!”

“Are you feeling sick? You have been spacing out a lot.” the American asked again.

“It’s probably lack of sleep. Don’t worry about it.” England reassured, picking up the luggage and began to unpack.   

“After you’re done with unpacking, let head downtown for dinner.”

“Okay, give me 10 minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting downstairs then.” he added.

“Okay.”

“England.”

“Hmm?”

There was silence. “Nevermind…” As America was leaving the room, England overhears what seem to be the unspoken words. “You were smiling.”

    

* * *

It’s already close midnight. The two went out for dinner earlier at a restaurant nearby - since England can’t cook and weren’t allowed to- walked around a little and got home around 9 o’clock. England had changed to his sage green pyjama and ready for bed when he noticed light comes from downstairs. _Is he still up?_ England thought. The steps still creak under England weight, a result of America keeps running up them when he was little.

A figure sits in the middle of the couch before the fireplace, his glasses reflect off the red light before it. America is still in his dress clothes, but everything including the tie and cuffs has been loosened. Lying on the table in front of him are the documents from the meeting earlier.

“Now, isn’t someone diligent?” England's voice rang along the quiet space. America flinched a little.

“You should go to bed.” America replied, not bothered to turn around.

“I will. Although...” he stopped himself, wondering if it’s a bad idea.

“Although what?”

“Is it okay for me to look around?”

America turned back, brows furrowed a little from the abrupt question. England hasn’t asked him for anything ever since he got here, so the sudden request from the other blond surprised him. It’s not something required permission, but America would rather not ask why.

He doesn’t want to know.

America unconcernedly went back to his mountain of paperwork, not bothering to answer. The silence was taken as a yes.

England looks around the dim lit room, remembering the time he spent here before the war. His shadow casts on the wall as he takes his time between each step. America stayed quiet the whole time, his finger steadily flipping through the pages. Yet, something tells England his attention is not on those trade deal. His gaze burns into England back from under those spectacles.

“This place can use some cleaning don’t you think?” England stated. As his index finger brushed across the top shelf of the fireplace, a thin layer of dust attach itself to him.

“I don’t have much visitor so that isn’t important.” America replied.

“Huh…” England joins him on the sofa, sitting on far right as America relocated himself on the far left. “Why did you invite me then?”

“Why do you think I did?” the younger nation responded dryly, wasting no time.

“America, haven’t I taught you that it’s not proper to answer like that?”

“It doesn’t matter since I’m not your younger brother anymore!”

England shouldn’t have come back here. Once again, he fell for it, holding onto to that little hope. Perhaps America did have good intentions. Perhaps he didn't mean it to sound that harsh. Nonetheless, every word hurt. It pains him as every word pierces through his heart like a blade. Rather than resorting to his usual retort, England decided to stay quiet, shrinking a little into the furniture. He’s in the house of someone who hates him, confronting the one who hates him.

It was quiet for a moment, only the flickering of the flame and the creaking of the old house can be heard. Calmly, the rhythmic drops of the rain fill the room as the storm arrived. It started slowly and began to pick up. “It was like this on that day too,” America said softly.

England flinched at the mention, memories flooding back to him. He brought his knees closer to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, his shoulder shakes a little as droplets began to form. England’s tear began to fall like the rain outside...like that one fateful day.

“If you really hate me that much, you should just say it.” Tears were overflowing, rolling down his cheeks.

“Yeah, I hate you,” America said, staring at the fireplace. The red fire flickered, its crackle and the falling rain outside fill in the silence. “I hate you so much.” He continued, knowing how much this distressed England.

“I-idiot...” England choked between his sobbing, now has turned into a full cry. “You have never needed me back then didn’t you.”

Something snapped inside of America. Taking off his glasses and settled it down above the documents, he simply asks: “England, who do you see right now?”

The question was sudden and demanding. There is a right or wrong to this.

Confused by the question, England hesitated, but before he can speak, America spoke once again, now facing England. “Which America do you see in your eyes?” He inched closer. “Am I still the precious little brother who follows your footsteps?” A little closer. _Why is there a hint of melancholy in that question?_ “Or am I the United States of America?” The distance from before is no longer there. England breath hitched.

“Or perhaps, am I forever the ungrateful one who betrayed you?”

Blue locked on green, America’s hand cupped England’s flushed left cheek at his thumb gently wiping away the tears. His other hand resting against the armchair behind, supporting his figure as he looms over England. He settled himself between England’s legs, pressing against his body.

America cornered him. “Did you know England?...” America trailed off, gripped tighten, leaning in closer. “I have never seen you as my brother.” America leans in, closing the last bit of distance between their lips. He kissed England. It started as a chaste kiss and evolved into something much more.

England eyes widen in a mixture of shock and surprised, yet didn’t push him away, letting the young nation pull him closer. He sat up a little, America strong arms hoisted him upright, pressing the two heated bodies closer. America’s hands quickly find its way on England’s nape and back, holding while drawing the Brit deeper into the kiss. He bites teasingly on the other bottom lip, asking for entrance. England lets him.

Settled on America’s lap, England’s fingers curled tightly around the fabric of America’s shirt. _Oh God!_ his heart is beating so loud, yet, it’s the same for America. There’s nothing to hold back now. Letting his body melt under the warm embrace, small moan of his partner’s broken name slip out between each breath. Slowly, they parted, breathing heavily as both tried to calm down from the high. Gazing into those once pure blues eyes peering at him, all that beside his reflection was lust and longing.

“Hahhh..Ameri....ca..” England whispered between his shaky breath. America bight blue eyes scanned the older nation reddening face, take in every small detail that only previously existed in his imagination. The younger America in him is a little bit jealous right now.

His half-closed eyelids flutter open a little to reveal those emerald gems concealed behind. From this distance, America can see England’s eyelashes are long. Pale porcelain skin that hot to each touch, flushed cheeks, his plum -now swollen- lips parted slightly. It’s driving America insane. The heat and the stimulation are thinning out his patient. Gathering up his voice, America muttered: “So, what do I have to do to become your most beloved once again?”


End file.
